Texas Pride (4 page)

In spite of her annoyance at Lucas, Meggie couldn't help but smile. “Every time Dylan stands close to Jessica, I feel something. Almost like a pulse of energy that moves from them into me. Did you feel it, too, Lucas?”

He nodded. “Yes. I feel it. I don't understand it or what it means. But we will soon, my love. Very soon.”

Meggie leaned close to Lucas, wanting his nearness even though there could be no physical contact. “Put your arms around me, my darling. Let's pretend, if only for a moment, that we are truly holding each other.”

Lucas held out his arms and Meggie moved into them, wishing desperately that Dylan Grant was the answer to their prayers.

“I love you, Lucas,” she said quietly.

“And I, you,” he answered.

They stood there quietly, pretending it was another time and place. “Lucas,” Meggie asked, “do you think Jessica will be angry when she finds out Dylan hasn't been completely truthful with her?”

Lucas smiled. “Of course not. Why would she be angry? She'll understand.”

“Do you really think so?”

Lucas smiled reassuringly. “Don't let it bother your pretty little head. Men know about things like this. She'll laugh about it.”

But Meggie wasn't so sure, and as she closed her eyes, she prayed that Lucas was right.

H
annibal trotted alongside his mistress while Dylan stayed a few feet behind, listening carefully as Jessica described the town of Makeshift. The wooden sidewalk echoed with the sound of their boot steps, and he made a mental note that the first order of business would be to replace the missing and rotted planks before someone broke a leg.

And speaking of legs, Dylan thought as he scanned Jessica's slender body, she had the kind of legs men dreamed about. They were long and curvy, and the thought of running his hands over her smooth calves and up her thighs brought an ache to his loins. The ache tightened as he watched the sway of her hips.

With a curse, he yanked his gaze from her and stopped to stare through a cracked window of what had once been a general store. Assorted cans and boxes lay toppled on the dusty floor-to-ceiling shelves, and a rusty scale sat on the sales counter. Curtains of spiderwebs draped the entire room.

“I'm surprised you haven't had any vandalism or theft,” Dylan said when he spied an antique cash register.

Jessica moved beside him and cupped her eyes to peer through the window. “Few people know about this place. And those who do know better than to bother anything here. I want to renovate this shop and sell items the kids make themselves, plus novelties of the sort tourists go for.”

“Tourists?”

A cool breeze picked up at that moment and lifted the ends of Jessica's long hair. She stepped away from the window, and Dylan watched the graceful movement of her fingers as she brushed the loose strands from her face. “You know—” there was a humorous light in her eyes as she looked at him “—that nasty word you've never been accused of. Unfortunately donations and sponsors won't be enough to support Makeshift. We'll have to bring in some commercialism to keep the center going. Anyway, I think it's a good opportunity for the kids to learn about business.”

“But why is it so important for you to build your center here?” Dylan asked. “Wouldn't it be easier to set up in town?”

She smiled then. The kind of smile a patient mother gives a child who's asked a silly question. “Easier isn't always best,” she said. “I want my kids to be as far away as possible from their everyday lives. They need a place where no one will judge them, a place where they can feel safe.”

There had been a fierce protectiveness in Jessica's voice when she'd said “my kids.” If she was this devoted to kids she didn't know, Dylan couldn't help but wonder what she'd be like with children of her own. An image of her holding a dark-haired, blue-eyed baby brought a strange ache to his chest, and he quickly shook off the feeling. Hannibal spotted a mouse a few feet down the sidewalk and, with a sharp bark, bounded off after the intruder.

“And what about you?” Dylan asked, watching Hannibal disappear around the building. “Is that why you're here? Because you feel safe?”

She studied him for a long moment, then slipped her hands into her pockets and looked away. “My mother died when I was fourteen,” she said quietly. “It devastated me, and I fell into a hole so black and so deep I thought I'd never find my way out. I ran wild, much to my brothers' distress, and I came close to getting into some serious trouble. That's how I ended up working in social services for kids after I graduated from college. I have a group here in town I work with. Right now we only meet on Tuesdays, but after Makeshift is open, we'll have a full-time staff here and bring in kids from all over.”

“It's hard to imagine you as a problem teen,” Dylan said.

She faced him, tilting her head and smiling slowly. “Because I look so innocent?”

He nodded.

“Looks are deceiving, Dylan. Take you, for instance.” She stepped closer to him and her gaze moved over his face. “You aren't nearly as indifferent as you want everyone to believe.”

He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. Nor did he like how close Jessica was standing to him. Close enough to catch the faint scent of jasmine. He felt his pulse begin to pound in his temple, and it took every bit of willpower he possessed not to yank her into his arms and show her that he was far from indifferent when it came to her. “It's dangerous to be so trusting, Jessica.”

“I trust you,” Jessica said, and watched Dylan's eyes narrow as their gazes meshed. Dangerous was a good word to describe him, she decided. He had a rugged, muscular strength that could intimidate the brawniest of men and make a woman feel light-headed.

When she realized she was actually feeling light-headed herself, she stepped away. “Makeshift will give these teenagers a second chance to get themselves on track again and move in the right direction. Along with general education, we'll teach them job and business skills, too.” Hannibal trotted back and she reached down to stroke his fur. “Drafting and construction are viable careers. The center could use someone like you.”

His laugh was dry and short. “You've got the wrong man, there. Volunteer and do-gooder weren't listed on my application, nor are they in my vocabulary. You'll have to find someone else for the job.”

Was that how he spent his life? Jessica wondered. Moving from job to job, no family, no one to care about him? She couldn't help the tug she felt in her heart for him.

Dylan Grant was becoming more dangerous by the minute, she decided. The thicker the wall he built between them, the more tempted she was to break through it. Hadn't she learned the hard way to keep away from his type? Volunteer and do-gooder weren't the only words missing in Dylan's vocabulary. So were commitment and love and family. And at twenty-seven, she was ready for all three.

But first, she resolved, she had a town to rebuild.

She turned and moved down the sidewalk, pointing out her intentions for each building. The old hotel would be a functioning hotel for tourists and guests. The bank would be the business and accounting office, the tailor shop an arts-and-crafts room. The barbershop would train hairstylists, and the telegraph office would become a computer center.

As Dylan listened to Jessica describe her future town, he was hard put not to catch some of her enthusiasm. It was an impressive undertaking, and he had to admit he admired her dedication. Before he'd come here to Stone Creek and to Makeshift, every job he'd ever worked on had been much the same as the next. Other than the reason that had brought him here, he'd had no cause to think this job would be any different.

But now, as he followed Jessica to the far end of the town, he had the strangest feeling that this job
was
different. Very different. There was something about Makeshift he couldn't put his finger on, something exciting. An energy in the air, in the buildings themselves, that made him feel as if he could do anything.

Except stay of course. That idea was ridiculous. Impossible. He'd tried to settle down once and it had been a disaster. He had no intention of repeating that mistake.

Jessica stopped in front of a small burned-out church at the far end of town. The faded paint had once been white, and half of the steeple was broken off. Mesquite and weeds choked the doors and steps, and a loose shutter rattled in the late-morning breeze. Of all the buildings in Makeshift, the church appeared to have fared the worst.

“I'm not sure where to start here,” she said, folding her arms as she stared at the dilapidated building.

“A bulldozer would be my suggestion,” Dylan said. “Tear it down and start from scratch.”

The light breeze suddenly turned into a cold wind. Dust and leaves flew everywhere. “What the hell...?” Dylan squinted, turning his face from the dirt and debris as he moved up the front steps of the church and struggled to pry loose one of the boards covering the front door. It wouldn't give.

Jessica touched his arm and pulled him away. “The church stays,” she said over the noise of the wind and Hannibal's insistent barking. “In fact, it's the first building I want renovated.”

When she'd dragged him several yards from the church, the wind calmed to a breeze again.
Weird,
Dylan thought as he slapped at the dust covering his jeans and shirt. “It will cost a lot more to renovate than rebuild,” he said. “What difference does it make?”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “We aren't tearing it down, Dylan.”

Jessica's statement went beyond an opinion or recommendation. It was an absolute, emphatic mandate. He looked down at the slender fingers gripping his arm and couldn't help but wonder if the rest of her skin was as smooth and soft. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

“Promise me you won't replace even one nail unless it's absolutely necessary,” she said earnestly.

The way she was looking at him he would have promised her anything. Her eyes darkened to a smoky, deeper shade of blue, and the unexpected need he felt for her shifted to an ache. But he wasn't the only one affected, he realized. He recognized the desire in her eyes, as well, mixed with surprise. It was like looking into a mirror.

They both stepped away at the same time.

“You're the boss,” he said, and heard the strained sound of his voice. “I've seen enough today, anyway. I've got to get back to Cactus Flat and round up a crew.”

“How are you going to do that?” she asked with a sigh. “I've already seen what's available.”

He smiled. “I've been around this business a few years more than you. I know where to look. I'll set it up and be back tomorrow with my things.” He began to head down the street.

“Dylan.”

He turned back at the quiet summons. Jessica walked toward him, hands in her pockets, her cheeks bright red.

“There's something I think you should know,” she said, staring down at her boots. “Something that might make a difference to your desire to work here.”

He didn't want her to say it. If she admitted this physical attraction between them, it would only make things more difficult. If they said nothing, it would be easier to pretend it didn't exist.
Yeah, right.

“Look, Jessica,” he said, “I already know.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “And I admit it's pretty intense. But if we just ignore it, it won't get in the way.”

She stared at him. “Ignore it?”

“Right.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure.” He started to feel awkward, discussing it like this.

“It doesn't frighten you?” she asked in amazement.

It scared the hell out of him. But he wasn't ready to admit that, either. “I can deal with it,” he said, determined to make himself believe it. “After all, we are both rational mature adults and—”

“Dylan, that's wonderful.” She smiled. “Few people even believe in them, let alone accept them.”

He was really missing something here. “Accept who?”

“Lucas and Meggie.”

“Lucas and Meggie?”

“The ghosts of course. According to the town records, they died in the church fire the night before their wedding. They're still here.”

He simply stared at her.

She furrowed her brow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “The ghosts. Right.”

“So you don't mind?” she asked.

“Well, I...”
Did he mind?
She'd obviously lost hers. “Let's just say I'm not quite convinced yet.”

She smiled slowly. “You stick around, you will be,” she said. “But don't worry. You don't bother them and they won't bother you. Right, Hannibal?”

Hannibal barked twice.

“Thanks for the warning,” he muttered.

He shook his head, watching as Jessica chased Hannibal back to the hotel. He looked at the church, remembering the strange gust of wind.

Ghosts.

Yeah. Sure.

Never a dull moment, he thought, wondering what other little surprises Jessica Stone had up her sleeve.

* * *

If there was one thing Dylan hated more than anything else, it was parties. The first two months he'd been married he'd been forced into an endless stream of socializing with people he didn't know, and certainly didn't care about. He'd never been one for idle conversation, and from his experience, the talk at family gatherings was as idle as it came.

He should have known that the Stone family would not fit that mold.

The second he'd stepped into Jake's house he felt as if he'd been whisked into a tornado. Three little girls ran past, shrieking, and when Jessica called to one of them, a dark-haired child ran back and hugged her. Dylan was stunned at the resemblance between them.

“Dylan, this is my half sister, Emma,” Jessica said. “Emma, this is Dylan Grant.”

The child smiled, then ran off to join the other two girls. From then on, Dylan was busy shaking hands and trying to remember names. Savannah, Jake's wife, was a blonde with iridescent green eyes and a soft Southern drawl. Annie, Jared's fiancée, was also a blonde, with expressive hazel eyes and the glow of a woman about to be married to a man she loved.

Dylan felt a tug of envy, wondering what it would be like to see that look on a woman's face for him. When Dylan shook Jared's hand and congratulated him, Jared nodded stiffly. When Dylan glanced at Jessica, he saw her frown at her brother.

Then there were neighbors and friends. A giant of a man named Hugh Slater, who was Jared's foreman on his oil rig. A crusty older man named Digger who didn't speak—he boomed. And a neighboring rancher, Sam McCants, who smiled politely as they shook hands, but never took his eyes off Jessica.

Not that he blamed the man, Dylan thought. Jessica looked radiant tonight. She had on a deep blue long cotton dress that clung to her curves. The scooped neckline revealed the soft swell of her breasts, but was not so suggestive as to show cleavage. When he'd offered to drive her truck here tonight and he'd helped her into the cab, a brief flash of one long leg had elevated his body temperature several degrees.